Things Would Never Be the Same
by slightlybizzare10
Summary: "Even with death so close, his lips emanate a warmth that chills me to the bone, his taste calling to me as if there's nothing that would matter more in this moment than him. Everyone may see me as the mockingjay, but I would forever be the girl in the rain, and he the boy with the bread." - Set immediately at the end of book 1, a different take on their relationship. Katniss POV.
1. Figuring it out

Things would never be the same.

After what happened in that ring, we would never be the same people. Me, the lowly coal miner's daughter with a frigid disposition for anyone that tried to fake a smile around me, and Peeta, the boy who turned into a man quicker than he was supposed to for his family's sake. And mine.

As the forest enveloped the windows of our train car, you could feel the train speeding up. Taking us farther away from the horrors of the arena. Yes, we would try and forget. But how could we?

The image of Rue burns into my brain, brighter than the morning sun. The spear, protruding from her stomach, and the wood tip still shaking from the force used to throw it.

The fear in her eyes. A gleam of almost peace, but not quite. Regret? As I held her in my arms, I could see what my mother saw, time and time again. The fleeting moment in someone's eyes as they are swallowed by death. The stillness that their skin holds, the chill that overcomes them as the light in their eyes blackens.

She was scared, this was obvious. I held her, and with as much strength as I could muster, I sang for her. The tears burned like acid against my eyes as I watched her fade, my voice seizing as I felt her chest shake… and shudder… into silence. Peace.

"Katniss…"

I'm torn away by the touch of Peeta's fingers against my shoulder, his ice blue eyes looking into mine, searching.

"What do we do now?" he asks.

"We go home," I say. "and we try to forget."

"About us?" I can see the fragileness behind his question. Was it all an act? Had we developed a relationship through all of the death, and blood, and pain simply for an eager crowd and a television lens glued to our faces? I can feel the fear that washes off of Peeta as he waits for an answer.

"I don't know," I say honestly, "but at least we have time now. To figure it out."

I reach for his fingers, entwining them with mine. I feel the warmth as he squeezes them with that same firmness that I felt with him in the cave. It can't have all been an act. This feels too good. Too right.

But one thought floated in the haze in my head as I felt my eyes wander into the blurring distance.

Gale.

A/N: Hey everyone! So I'm back, after years of not being able to write anything. Last time I published here, I was in high school, and now I'm about to graduate college. Be gentle, but please leave feedback and let me know what you think! Obviously, this is just the beginning, but any criticism is welcome.


	2. You're a big girl now

It had been three weeks since the train ride that brought us back to District Twelve. I don't remember much of it, the confusion and pain of all the unanswered questions made sure of that.

The Hunger Games have always been a ploy to keep the power where it is said to belong. With the Capitol. The people of the districts are supposed to stay neck deep in our anguish over the young that we send and have returned dead and nailed in pine boxes. That was what was expected of Peeta and me, I'm sure.

We were supposed to die in that arena. The people knew it, the Capitol surely knew it, and we knew it.

So why didn't we?

I had Prim to come back to, I suppose, but Peeta? His family had bet against him surviving the initial bloodbath, instead collecting money to send me gifts for survival. He returned to scowls and ill thoughts that his family had wasted money on me, because once again, they had that extra mouth to feed.

The thought sickens me, but at the same time, I can't help but admire Peeta. He fought, despite knowing there was nothing else to return for in District Twelve. He's strong, emotionally and physically.

I remember him saying in the cave at the arena that he had me to come home for, but why me? What makes me so great? I'm as cold as you can get. It's been three weeks since our return, and I haven't spoken to him once, purposefully spending every minute I could in the woods hunting.

The quick flash of some fur against a ray of sunshine in the canopy snap me into a concentrated daze as I let two arrows fly, both meeting the inside of a buck as it tried to sprint away at my scent.

I suppose my aiming hasn't changed since the games, but I can't help but feel things have changed since we returned. Gale hasn't been hunting with me once.

Maybe he's unsure of where we stand after everything with Peeta. I'm in the same boat I suppose.

The buck doesn't appear fully grown, and I figure it would make a nice present for Greasy Sae after all the rough weather we've been having, so I hunch over and pull the animal onto my shoulders, slugging back to town at a moderate pace for the weight.

I arrive at the back entrance to the Hob just as Gale is leaving. He gives me a quick glance up and down, as if surprised that I risked punishment for bringing such a big animal back, before walking away with a scowl.

I make it a point to find him and talk, so after giving the meat to Greasy Sae I run into the street to find Gale. We had both had long enough, we need to clear the air between us.

I find him a few buildings away, obviously trying to wander in a direction he thinks I wouldn't need to head towards. I can't help but feel my efforts may fall on deaf ears.

"Gale," I say, grabbing his arm. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you since we came back on the train."

"I've been busy," he shoots, icily gliding his arm out of my hand.

"Doing what?"

"You know, working, trying to provide for my family," he says. His face grows hard and unmoving.

"No, I mean what have you been doing? We haven't been hunting together in weeks," I say, hushing my voice so as to not blatantly shout my illegal work to the Peacekeepers.

"You don't need me in the woods with you, you're a big girl now," he barks, glancing at me to judge my reaction. "The games made sure of that."

His comment shoots into me, as if I'm tied to a post, reeling from a sledgehammer delivering a dull blow to my stomach. My suspicions are confirmed. Obviously, I hit a nerve when the Capitol showed Peeta and I in the cave together.

I say nothing, turning and walking in the other direction. He'll talk when he's ready.

The walk to the Victor's Village is short: a half mile of dirt road from the market square in the center of town. It's almost peaceful, set aside from the cloud of coal dust the people are used to breathing. In its gates, twelve houses stand for each victor in the district. Haymitch's house, even from the road, appears dark and unkept. Peeta's house, despite the cold and the approaching darkness, is lit brightly and with a warmth that reminds me of his embrace.

I can't help but purse my lips as I walk by. I want so desperately to bust down his door, grab him by the wrist, and run in the direction of the woods. He's never been outside the spiked fence, and I'm sure the idea of it would draw immediate objection, but I can't help it. I find myself wanting to run, run with him, away from this retched place. Away from the Capitol and the constant fear of their revenge.

I guess I'm still trying to save his life.


	3. The boy with the bread

I'm in the cave. The light from the approaching morning slipping through the crack in the ceiling as a cold gush of air slips through the rocks. Peeta lies asleep next to me, exhausted from the cocktail of sleeping serum that Haymitch had delivered earlier.

I know that I need to get going: his leg will only get worse and the chance of him dying is becoming greater, but I can't tear myself away from his arms. Warm and burly, but still very weak from the lack of food in recent days, I can't help but feel safer with them around me. His fingers occasionally twitch in his sleep, every shake sending a warm wave across my body.

I get up, being careful not to wake him, and as I start to crawl out of the cave, something in the back of my head is screaming for his touch. To curl back up next to him and never leave. Maybe death would be a better reprieve than any medicine the Capitol could give us. I turn around for one last look, to remind myself that I have another reason to make it to the end of these games.

Before I can help it, I slide in next to him for one last kiss, swiftly but silently pressing my lips against his.

Even with death so close, his lips emanate a warmth that chills me to the bone, his taste calling to me as if there's nothing that would matter more in this moment than him. Everyone may see me as the mockingjay, but I would forever be the girl in the rain, and he the boy with the bread.

I'm snapped back to reality by the sound of President Snow's coughing into a napkin he's pulled from his pocket. Red speckles the satin finish as he smoothly places it back into his pocket, returning the focus to our conversation.

"I'm afraid this war started the moment you held out those berries, Miss Everdeen," he says, carefully eying my expression as he tears away at my mental stability. "There's already a spark in the air for the rebellion, and all your little stunt did was point in the direction of the fuel."

"Why don't you just go ahead and kill me now?" Might as well cut to the chase.

"Oh, no, Miss Everdeen. That would solve nothing. You'll serve me better alive, you see. Being careful not to start any more ripples than you already have. The Victor Tour is coming, and you'll soon see parts of Panem that you have never seen. The whole nation will have their eyes on you…"

I nervously shift in my seat, expecting the conversation to come to its point quickly.

"The people will be looking to you during this time of grieving. Do try to give them a good show," he begins, turning the TV screen to me while standing. "I wouldn't want to have to give you something to grieve about as well, would I?"

Frozen in the image now directed towards me, I see the faces of Peeta, Gale, my mother and Prim all laced with fire. He's now made a threat against me.

By the time President Snow and his group have left, I find myself racing across the courtyard to Haymitch's house. I need clarity, I need to speak about this before the sheer chaos of what has happened drives me to madness.

Bursting into the door, the stench of raw liquor and dirt fill the air. I fumble around the living room and kitchen until I come upon Haymitch's drunken form, slouched over two bottles of empty alcohol bottles. And so the normal routine begins: dumping water, avoiding the blaze of anger and his stealthily hidden knife, and the rousing of his sanity.

Within a half hour, I have Haymitch filled in and am waiting for something, anything when he tells me, "Well… sounds like you're in a pickle."

"And?" I ask, hoping for something a little better than that.

"That's just it, " he begins, "You're stuck. Either way you look at it, someone is going to pay for what is happening."

"He can't hurt them!" I blurt out before thinking about what is being said.

"Oh, he can. Remember District Thirteen?" he asks. I shake my head. "Of course you haven't, that's why."

"So what do I do? What's the plan?" The agitation must be apparent in my voice.

"Isn't it obvious?" he slurs, grabbing a glass and sliding it across the table towards me. The disgust in my eyes answers his question, as he reaches across the table to take the glass and fill it for himself.

"You're going to play in his little, make believe game of 'Everything in Panem is fine and there is no rebellion coming.' You and Peeta are going to appear madly in love, go from district to district, and mourn the losses of the fallen tributes. Then, you will both come back here and live happily ever after every time a camera comes near, got it?"

"Wish I could say that would work, Haymitch, but we can't act forever, can we Katniss?" Peeta says as he walks in through the backdoor, slamming it behind him.

"Peeta…" I begin, waves of guilt forming in my mind.

"Save it, there aren't any cameras around yet." He shoots, snatching the glass out of Haymitch's hands and downing its contents before he can even offer a comeback.

"Obviously you two have a lot of talking to do," Haymitch says, standing up and slowly but surely stumbling out of the room, leaving the two of us to have the talk I have been dreading since our return.

"What is _your_ plan?" he asks. "I'd love a heads-up so I know what to expect this time."

"I… I don't know…" I begin to stutter, slouching into one of the chairs surrounding the table. "I wish things could just go back to the way they were in the arena."

"What do you mean? Before or after we had people trying to kill us?"

"I wish we could go back to the cave, Peeta." I say, forbidding myself from showing any tears. I didn't shed one when my father died, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of showing them now.

Peeta stopped for a second, mulling my response to his question I suppose. His face scrunched to show his focus, his eyes darting back and forth as he comes to some sort of conclusion. I hadn't lied. There was no point with him, neither one of us had anything to gain from it. Better to be on the same ground.

"Look, Katniss…"he begins, sitting in a chair next to mine. "I know, I shouldn't be holding you accountable for what you said in the arena. We were fighting for our lives. I can't hold you to what you were saying."

While he speaks, I'm searching his face for something, anything to hold onto so that I know we will be ok. Our lives depend on it, and as I look, I see guilt, understanding, maybe a glimmer of hope?

"I can't keep pretending to drag this dead horse on my back, so let's just call this what it is, and move on from there. We're friends, " he says. I should be relieved by his decision, a conclusion to my confusion as to what we mean to one another, but I can't help but feel sickly also.

"Friends." It's all I can try to say as I avoid his gaze, staring at my fingers as I awkwardly play with a scab on my thumb.

I'm surprised when suddenly Peeta leans in and plants his lips on mine, placing his warm hands on either side of my face. The confusion is back, and I can't help but let my mind race as a million other questions begin to buzz around as to what is going on. Our lips separate, but we remain close, our lips only an inch or two from touching again.

"…That doesn't mean I don't want more, Katniss. You just have to give me the chance to earn it this time."

A/N: So there's the end of my uploading frenzy for right now. This isn't the end of the story, I promise! I just wanted to get some feedback and to be able to show someone other than my dog what my writing was about, so here it is! Any feedback is appreciated! Thanks again for reading, and dont worry when I say that another chapter is coming soon.


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